


season of mists

by gothyringwald



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Attempted Historical Accuracy, Bonfires, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fortune Telling, Halloween, Historical References, Jack-o'-lanterns, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Trick or Treat: Treat, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Hallowe’en traditions Nicky and Joe witness, or partake in, over the centuries.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 116
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	season of mists

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highsmith (quimtessence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/gifts).



BONFIRES + SNAP-APPLE

The bonfire— _fire of bones_ —blazes against the inky stretch of night sky. Sparks fly out, like shooting stars in reverse, making their way back to the heavens instead of descending from them.

The sounds of revelry fill the night air; Christianity has long since claimed this land, but the old traditions still hold, especially tonight, when the veil between the living and dead is said to be at its most fragile.

Nicolò stares into the fire and wonders what that means for him, now that he has died many times, yet still lives. Not of the dead, but not quite of the living.

But the fire signals the end of the old and start of the new, too. Many years have passed since Nicolò shed his old life, though he has yet to fully shed his beliefs. They’re ingrained. He may now know the man who killed him again and again and again, the man who holds his heart, is not his enemy. Not even close. But even witnessing this ritual of the old religion brings back uncomfortable feelings.

Still, as he peers past the fire, to the merrymakers beyond, the feeling eases. And only eases more still as Yusuf emerges from the shadows at the edge of the flames, flinging himself to the ground beside Nicolò.

“I have to say,” he says, waving a hand, “I did not know Christians knew how to enjoy life.”

Nicolò sends him a long suffering glare.

“Except for you, of course.” Yusuf grins and brings a hand from behind his back, holding it out to Nicolò. A plump apple sits in his palm.

“You brought me an apple.” Nicolò takes it and turns it over. His brows raise and he looks up at Yusuf. “It has a bite taken out of it.”

“I was the first to manage to bite one,” Yusuf says, as though that explains anything. At Nicolò’s silence, he adds, “It means I will be the next to marry.”

Nicolò’s heart leaps. “Does it?”

“Apparently.” Yusuf stares into Nicolò’s eyes, and Nicolò has to turn away. Yusuf braces himself on one hand, leaning toward Nicolò. “But I am uncertain what biting an apple has to do with marriage.”

“It is equally lost on me.” Nicolò huffs then sucks in a breath. “Did you— Do you wish to marry?”

“Once, perhaps, but—“ Yusuf is still looking at Nicolò, eyes dark, face half in shadow. “I do not need to.”

“No,” Nicolò says, the last of the earlier tension flying away, like one of the bonfire’s sparks.

Yusuf smiles and swipes the apple from him, taking a large bite.

“I thought you gave it to me!”

“I’m the one who caught it,” Yusuf says, but then he takes a knife from his pocket, and cuts the apple in half. “Here,” he says, handing Nicolò half the apple, then licking his thumb.

“Thank you,” Nicolò says, wishing he could lick the juice from Yusuf’s fingers for him. Perhaps later. He dips his gaze, then turns back to the fire.

One hand rests in the dirt, touching the edge of Yusuf’s. The fire crackles, and, together, they watch it slowly dwindle to embers.

DIVINATION (OOMANCY)

Nicolò watches the circle of young men and women—mostly women—from where he’s leaning against the fireplace. Yusuf is at his elbow, but turned away, talking to someone or other, more suited to these things than Nicolò.

One of the young women cracks an egg into a bowl of water, watching as it takes form. They’ve been doing this for the past half hour, or so, some gasping in delight, others groaning in despair, as the eggs tell them who their future spouses will be.

Nicolò sips his wine, musing how people have changed so little in some ways.

“Oh, Margaret,” one girl says, “it looks like a loaf of bread. That must mean you will marry Peter.”

Margaret flushes prettily with her joy, and the bowl is prepared anew.

“Who’s next?” one girl, who seems like the leader of the small group, says, eyeing everyone else. Her gaze lands on Nicolò and her lips curve into a smile. She crooks a finger at him. “How about you, sir? You’ve been watching us all night. Would you care to join?”

“Hester, surely he’s too old.” Margaret flushes again, though no doubt out of embarrassment this time. “Pardon me, sir. I only meant you must already be married.”

“I am not offended.” Nicolò pushes away from the fireplace; anything resembling witchcraft still sits uncomfortably, as ridiculous as it seems, and he’s not one for games besides. But there’s something in the air tonight making him feel almost whimsical, so he takes the proffered egg and says, “Do I just crack it open?”

Hester nods and Nicolò does as instructed, watching as the egg takes form in the hot water.

“I do believe your true love is a soldier,” Hester says, eyes dancing in the firelight.

A scandalised gasp runs around the group. Margaret opens her mouth, then quickly closes it again.

“That,” Nicolò says, peering at the blob of egg that _might_ look something like a musket, “I already know.” He gives a little smile, then leaves the young people to their games, returning to Yusuf.

“Are you playing games, my love?” Yusuf asks, finished talking to whoever it was.

Nicolò lifts his shoulders.

“And what did they tell you?”

“Nothing I don’t already know,” Nicolò says, smiling properly now.

TRICK-OR-TREAT

Poirot is one page away from revealing the murderer of the poor, drowned girl, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Tesoro,” Nicky calls out, “there’s someone at the door.” No answer. “Joe?” Still no answer. Booker isn’t with them, yet, and Andy had gone to bed an hour ago. Nicky sighs and sets his book aside, carefully marking his place, and goes to the door.

They’re in one of their more central safe houses—this one isn’t tucked away in the countryside, but hidden in plain sight. Or, at least, hidden in the suburbs. Nicky is certain they haven’t been made but, still, he readies himself as he swings open the door.

“Trick or treat!” four children yell, almost simultaneously.

Nicky smiles, interrupted book forgotten. “Happy Halloween,” he says, looking over the masked children, “what a terrifying group of ghouls you are.” He doesn’t understand a lot of this American Halloween, but the costumes, the going door-to-door, is something he knows from long ago. The mumming and guising and giving out of soul cakes were foreign to him, then, but now the thought that remnants of it have lasted warms him.

The children hold out their plastic bags, shaking them hopefully, and Nicky chuckles, holding up a hand. “Just a moment,” he says, and turns to the bowl of brightly wrapped candy he’d stowed by the door.

Andy had merely screwed up her face at the candy, and Joe had teased Nicky about going soft in his old age (while giving him that fond look all the while). But Nicky is glad he’d thought to buy them, now. He pours equal amounts into the children’s bags and is about to wish them a good night when a low growl comes from behind him.

The children squeal in delight, then turn and run off, their screams fading into the evening.

“You scared the children,” Nicky says, turning to see Joe wearing a silly plastic mask of Frankenstein’s monster.

“And it’s probably the best treat they’ll get all night.”

Nicky snorts and shakes his head. “Take the mask off.”

“I don’t know,” Joe says, stroking the plastic chin, “I think it’s quite becoming.”

“Very becoming.” Nicky presses the door shut behind him, and reaches to push the mask up. He runs a hand over Joe’s face, then leans in, their lips brushing, and says, “But I like this better.”

JACK-O-LANTERNS

“Pumpkins?” Nicky asks, frowning.

“Yes, pumpkins,” the stack of pumpkins says in Nile’s voice. The top one wobbles and Nicky catches it before it can topple and splatter over the floor. Nile shoots him a grateful look over the top of the remaining pumpkins cradled in her arms, then sets them on the counter.

“Look,” she says, “this is my first Halloween since I became undead—”

“Not undead,” Andy says, passing through the kitchen and grabbing an apple, before going back into the other room.

“Fine, immortal.” Nile sighs. “But I wanna celebrate like I always did.” She fixes Nicky and Joe with big, imploring eyes and adds, “With my family.”

“Argh.” Joe throws his head back in defeat. “How can we say no?”

Nicky smiles, both impressed that Nile has managed to talk them into this, and warmed by her obvious affection. That she already sees them as her _family_. It’s sweet. “It could be fun,” he admits, “what do we do?”

Nile raises her brows at them. “You’ve never carved pumpkins?”

“No,” Joe says, “just anyone who’s ever hurt Nicky,” making a motion like he’s carving up an assailant with an invisible knife.

Nicky rolls his eyes, but he leans into Joe’s side when Joe throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Well, that’s romantic,” Nile says, “I think.” She shakes her head, then grabs a pumpkin and a marker. “It’s simple,” she says, then instructs them on what to do.

It does seem simple enough, and they each take a pumpkin and set to work. Joe shields his any time Nicky tries to look at his progress, lips tilting even as he doesn’t look at Nicky.

Nicky concentrates on his own work; he’s wielded a blade many times, but this takes a different kind of precision. There is fun in it, though, and something calming about it, too.

They finish one after the other; Joe is the first to proudly display his pumpkin to the others.

Nile frowns. “What’s that meant to be?”

“It’s human kind’s eternal quest for knowledge, and, uh, our—”

“You messed up and tried to cover it up.” Nicky raises his brows.

Joe narrows his eyes, then he shrugs. “I messed up and tried to cover it up.” He juts his chin at Nicky’s pumpkin and says, “Let’s see yours.”

Nicky turns his pumpkin around, a small smile on his face. It turned out better than he’d expected.

“Does it have a beard?” Joe asks.

“Yes,” Nicky says, “it’s you.” He pats the top of the pumpkin, looking at Joe, who reaches out and squeezes his hand.

Nicky squeezes back, then turns to Nile and says, “And now, the expert.”

“Mine,” Nile says, turning her pumpkin around, “is Andy.”

Nicky and Joe both laugh. “It’s a very good likeness,” Nicky says.

Joe points his knife. “You’ve captured her scowl perfectly.”

“I heard that,” Andy calls out from the other room.

They all laugh, now, and then clean up. When they’re done, they put candles into their jack-o-lanterns and take them out into the other room. Andy makes a show of being annoyed at the intrusion, but she’s wearing that enigmatic smile of hers, and makes room for Nile to sit beside her.

Soft candlelight flickers, casting shadows over the room as Joe and Nicky take up the other couch. Joe slides his arm around Nicky’s waist, pulling him close, and pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Nile looks over at them, an almost wistful expression on her face. She smiles and says, “Happy Halloween,” and Nicky hears the thank-you in it.

Nicky gives her a lazy smile, Joe warm at his side, and says, “Happy Halloween.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And I hope you enjoyed the extra treat, Highsmith :D I was inspired at the eleventh hour so hope this is OK to post for you :)
> 
> Other notes: 
> 
> Title from Keats’s “To Autumn” because I couldn’t think of anything else XD
> 
> I didn’t specify dates and places in hopes that it might obscure the inevitable historical inaccuracies (I did research! But not as in depth as usual because this idea came to me at the last minute and I wanted to get it done close-ish to Halloween) but I apologise for them all the same!
> 
> I originally wrote the divination section with wax (carromancy, I believe), but ‘oomancy’ (which is the technique using eggs) is a more fun word - and I wasn’t 100% sure which were used at Halloween, tbh
> 
> The book Nicky is reading is Agatha Christie’s _Hallowe’en Party_ because…Halloween!


End file.
